J

He was awful to me. For years I fawned over him. My friends tried to tell me he was no good. His friends too. I ignored them all. I thought I could love enough for both of us.

He was arrogant. He told me people thought he looked like Brad Pitt but that was just ridiculous. He was lazy even though he worked with his hands--various odd jobs that never quite fixed anything. He talked entirely too much about his bowel movements, masturbation and porn and smoked pot constantly. But we laughed a lot together and he liked the same movies as me and told me I was smart. Never pretty, but smart.

Until one day he did... and everything changed.

We were on our way home from an amusement park. We'd spent all day and most of the evening there, riding the Scrambler in the October rain but now we were on our way home.

Home at that time was a basement apartment with 3 windows and a cat. It was depressing but I was too depressed to notice. He had his own place but was always at mine. Flirting. I'd liked him for a long time. I wanted to see him happy. It's why I did all the things I did for him.

The heat was cranked up in the car, drying our rain soaked clothes. I rested my head against the door and watched him drive. Soon, the sound of tires on wet asphalt and gentle wump wump of windshield wipers lulled me and I closed my eyes. I felt content, calm. I smiled a little to myself. Right there in that moment, it felt like he was mine and I was his.

"Shit."

I felt the car move into the next lane. I opened my eyes to see him exit the freeway.

"This isn't my exit." I sat up, noted we were about a mile out of the way.

"Yeah. I know," but he didn't sound annoyed like he usually did.

He spent a lot of time annoyed with me. I was too fat. Inexperienced. I didn't drive. All of those things annoyed him. I would pour my heart out to him and he'd get annoyed. I thought it was supposed to be like that. That he was right when he said I was too emotional. I couldn't see things being any other way. He never called me his girlfriend. He never said he had feelings for me. He teased me, played with me.  He took me to meet his mom, he made me believe things were different than they really were. He moved in with me and slept next to me, built a home with me and that night, in the car when he missed my exit, our exit, he told me I was pretty.

"Maybe if you weren't so pretty when you sleep, I wouldn't get distracted and miss the exit."

Warmth spread through my body and I knew it wasn't the car's heater. This one comment was enough to convince me we could finally be the couple I'd imagined us to be. I made up my mind to do something.

I smiled at him from my side of the car and at a long red light, I reached for him. When I kissed him he tasted like cigarettes. It felt like the movies. Perfect. Not quite real. The light turned and the kiss stopped. At the light close to home I saw him turn to look at me but I kept my eyes forward, still and silent the rest of the way home. I felt the kiss ripple through me.

We pulled into the parking lot and parked in my spot. I unbuckled my seat belt and sat next to him for a moment, breathing in the electricity from just one kiss. His eyes met mine and it felt like he was seeing me for the first time.  I grinned and threw open the car door. I heard him chase after me, laughing and calling for me to wait. I reached the porch first and let us both inside. I pushed the door closed and then pushed my body into his. I kissed him again and again and felt him move against me. Finally.

I begged him to love me.

He never said he did. I told myself that he wouldn't spend so much time with me if it wasn't love. Or that when he asked me to do things for him--to him--it was because he trusted me.  I thought our meals together meant that he liked being with me, so I didn't mind picking up the check or buying the groceries. I believed he was touching me because he wanted me. I convinced myself it didn't matter when he was crude or inconsiderate or rough with my body.

He didn't love me. He took advantage of me and it took a long time for me to know it. He shattered any shred of confidence I had. He was outwardly cruel. He humiliated me, belittled me and diminished my feelings. And then one day, he left.

Just like the day we shared our first kiss, I will remember the day he walked out. I was sitting on a green mushroom shaped stool. I'd had it since I moved out and it reminded me of home. I had been extremely depressed. I remember that.  I remember looking up at him, literally crying for help and being met with a look of disgust.

"I don't want to deal with this shit anymore."

I watched him walk out the door and up the stairs through one of the windows. I began to mourn what we'd never really had.

After my mom died, he reached out to express condolences. I don't remember much about that time but I know he did.

A year or so later he came by my place. We'd been talking a bit on the phone, trying to be friends I guess.  His arrogance was oddly comforting in its familiarity. He sat next to me on the couch and told me I looked good. He apologized. I forgave. We were friends...a little. And then he met someone and I met someone and we drifted. We'd call on birthdays and holidays, always on Halloween. We became Facebook friends. Then...nothing.

He was my first.

But not the last.